There was an ugly contraction of Brian's brow at this moment. To Mr. Colquhoun the moments of doubt were full of anguish. Perchance Jeff had given his life for his son's, for life seemed long in returning to the little face that lay so still and white, with the pretty yellow curls dripping wet. At last Jeff opened his eyes, but it was with no rational gaze.
"Mother—I did try—they will tell you that I did try," he said faintly. Then his eyelids closed again, and he muttered, "I will say it now—'as we forgive them that trespass against us.'"
Mr. Colquhoun understood at last. Here was verily a little hero who had suffered the guilt and punishment of another—a weak and sensitive child who had borne a wrong silently, and had finally all but lost his life to save the life of one he knew had sacrificed him.
By and by the doctor came, and Jeff was undressed and taken upstairs without any other revival. Maggie had been sent for at once, to her brother's cottage, and was installed in Jeff's little room as his nurse. The doctor had lifted the wet curls above Jeff's temple, and had revealed a dark bruise there. Evidently the boy had come in contact with some obstacle in his wild plunge from the shore to the skiff, only a few yards off. Jeff and Brian had both been learning to swim with Sandy this summer; but Brian had made no progress, whereas Jeff could manage a few strokes.
That was a very anxious night for the household at Loch Lossie. Even little Jessie was suffered to wander about the passages till after ten o'clock; and there was no assembly for prayers in the dining-room as usual. A great shadow and fear seemed to hang over the house. Brian was taken away by his mother to his own room and put to bed.
"Take him out of my sight. He is the cause of all this," Mr. Colquhoun had said sternly, seeing he was fully recovered and inclined to make explanations.
Mr. Colquhoun and Maggie sat up together by Jeff's bedside. He lay most of the night still and white. Towards daybreak a pink spot came into each cheek, and he breathed more quickly and grew restless. At last he began to speak:
"Oh, mother, I cannot bear it—indeed I cannot bear it! No one loves me here, it is lonely—and they won't even believe me or trust me—they think I am a liar. Brian looks so good, and he is never found out—they think he must be true. When will you come, mother?—oh, I want you, I want you."
All the pent-up sorrow of weeks and months went out in the last bitter cry. Then, as if awakened by his own intensity of feeling, Jeff opened his eyes and was suddenly conscious of his surroundings.
"Uncle Hugh, where am I? Why are you sitting here? Have I been ill? Oh, yes, I remember all now. I heard Brian scream, and I ran down to the lake. He was not drowned, was he? Oh, if I had saved him! mother would be so glad; because he is my enemy, you know. Why does my head ache so much; it all seems confused too. I wish you would believe me, Uncle Hugh; indeed I told the truth."